Burn the Past
by Ex Astra
Summary: Post RENT. Dealing with life and loss. My first fanfic ever. Please review! COMPLETED.
1. Burn the Past

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Disclaimer: What, you think I own this? Please. All characters belong to the late, great Jonathan Larson. The piece of the script from "Today 4 U" is found within his lyrics for "La Vie Boheme." I hereby accredit these lyrics to him. 

I felt like sounding all important and business-like. ;) 

AN: Beware the angst! The angst will eat you alive. Reviews are much appreciated!

And now, for our regularly scheduled fanfiction...

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Burn the Past

by Ex Astra

Mark stared deep into the fire before him. He had been in this position for quite some time. He'd thought about turning away, looking at something else, but something about those flames was hypnotic; he was drawn to them. 

Maybe if he looked at them long enough, the pain could just melt away. 

__

I'm looking away now. Really, I am. Maybe just another minute. Just a little longer. Then I'll be done. 

He furrowed his brow at the word.

Done. 

Who knew that one word could be so final?

His eyes widened for a moment before he clenched them shut. He turned his face away from the fire abruptly, as if he'd been stung. He opened his eyes again when he knew the flames would be out of his line of vision. He couldn't afford to get lost in them again. There were more important things to do.

He scanned his surroundings, trying to find something in the darkness where the room wasn't lit by the fire. All he could see were reds and yellows in front of his eyes from staring at the fire for too long. He blinked a few times and looked down at the screenplay in his lap. 

The front page was simple: Today For You. Mark Cohen. 

He had promised himself to get rid of screenplays. Something really did come out of the method. His film. The most important thing in his life, supposedly. Of course, he'd had to scrap the idea of not having a screenplay. A few weeks before, a production company had previewed his film and actually liked it. Well, not a production company exactly, but someone with contacts in one. They needed him to mail a script of it so it could be copied and given to the producers, and as soon as possible. So Mark transcribed one from the film. 

His career might have finally been going somewhere. His life might have finally been going somewhere. 

Roger had been so proud of him. 

He was about to open the script when he heard a knock at the door. He had no intention of opening it. The world could stand to wait. He flinched when a second knock came. 

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No. I'm not opening it.

"Marky?" Maureen had already opened the door and was peeking her head in.

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I thought I locked that door.

"Can I come in?"

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Your head's already in.

He said nothing. She came in anyway. "Mark? Honey, why are the lights off? Oh, you… Have a fire." She walked over so that she was facing him. "Hi," she said carefully.

"Hey, Maureen."

She smiled at his response. She was prepared for him to not talk through her whole visit. God knows she had given him the silent treatment before. But this wasn't about that. 

Maureen looked down at his lap. "You've been reading your script?"

Mark glanced at his screenplay. "Yeah," he whispered, folding his hands over it. He looked up at her and smiled feebly. "Memories." 

She offered him a sympathetic smile. 

__

C'mon Maureen. You didn't come here to talk about my film. Just say it.

"Mark, why are you doing this to yourself?"

__

And there it is.

"Doing what to myself?"

"Come on, don't be like that. Look around, Mark! You're sitting in a dark, empty room alone with your script, wasting away!" 

"It's not dark. I have the fire."

"Which just adds to the cheerfulness of the room." 

Mark looked back down at his folded hands. They wouldn't argue with him. 

"You have to get out. Live your life! Y'know, in the world? Just 'cause you hide from it behind closed doors doesn't mean that it goes away."

__

Good, trusty hands. I can always count on you.

"I'm not going to let you stay here like this. None of us are. That's right, _us_. Your friends? We're still here, too." 

__

I love these hands. 

"Do you… Do you wanna, maybe… talk to Mimi?"

That did it.

"No."

"But Mark…"

"I don't want to talk to Mimi! Okay?"

Maureen was silent for a while. She knew that she was overstepping her bounds, but she couldn't just do nothing. She couldn't sit back and watch two of her best friends slowly kill themselves when they could've saved each other. When she could have saved them.

She stared at the cold expression on Mark's face, and though she knew he wanted more time, she just couldn't give it to him. He wouldn't last much longer. And she couldn't watch him suffer. She didn't want to go to her last resort, but maybe it would make him understand that he needed help, someone he could talk to… and Mimi could be that for him. She could at least relate. 

"She loved him, too."

Mark turned his icy stare on her. 

"Get out."

"Mark, I…"

"GET OUT!"

Maureen swallowed as tears filled her eyes. 'No,' she thought to herself. 'Not now.' She wasn't going to cry now. She looked at the fire to pull herself together for a minute. She bit her lip and glanced back at Mark. His gaze was fixated on the flames, his unmoving figure proving his resoluteness. She tore her eyes from him and let out a frustrated, helpless sigh. She went straight for the door. She kept a steady pace until she had gotten into the hallway and closed the door behind her. Only then did she let herself fall back on the door, hand still on the doorknob, for a moment of defeat. She grimaced and let a tear fall down her cheek. 'I can't do this, I don't know what he needs anymore…' All she knew was what she needed. And she needed Joanne. She finally let go of the door and made her way to the end of the hallway. She walked calmly down the stairs and headed back home. 

Mark still hadn't moved. The fire was mesmerizing him again. 

__

What does she know about love? 

After her fading footsteps grew too faint to hear, he shook his head slightly and returned his focus to the screenplay. He flipped through a couple pages, stopping about a quarter of the way into it. He read a handwritten excerpt silently to himself:

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MARK: Maureen Johnson, back from her spectacular one-night engagement at the eleventh street lot, will sing Native American tribal chants backwards through her vocoder, while accompanying herself on the electric cello…Which she has never studied!

(Floor angle: Shot of Angel dancing on the table. Side angle: Collins taking a swig of beer and laughing at the sight of Angel and the rest of the riot. Front angle: Shot of the entire table, up and dancing. Shot of snotty Mr. Muffy's Dad in his upscale investor-wear, thoroughly disgusted by the unruly scene.)

MARK: Roger will attempt to write a bittersweet evocative song…

Mark stopped reading. He flipped through more pages, skimming them quickly, looking for anything else. His eyes picked up single phrases and words as they flew past him, the handwriting getting messier and messier, embodying Mark's own excitement when he had written them. 

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Joanne, the lot, what happened to Benny, Roger, Maureen, it's beginning to, Muffy, Roger, not denying emotion, Mimi, life goes on, Roger, how could we lose, Collins, Roger, Angel, I die, Roger, without you, Roger, goodbye love, Roger, Roger, Roger…

His eyes landed on the last page. There were four words written across it in large capital letters in his sloppy handwriting: NO DAY BUT TODAY!

He closed the script and picked it up, staring at the title page.

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Most important thing in my life.

He took one last look at the meager stack of papers before throwing it into the fire. 

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The most important thing in my life is dead.


	2. You'll Have It Made

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Disclaimer: All characters are Jonathan Larson's. Any lyrics that are included or alluded to in this fic belong to him as well, the genius that he was. Only Eric Alcindoro is mine… And not even his last name. That I got from the original "La Bohème." They can have their name. 

AN: Thank you all _so_ much for the amazing reviews! This really is my first fanfiction of all time, and luckily, my first experience of feedback is _amazing_. It means so much to me. 

RavenNat, you guessed it… We're going back to explain how Mark got where he is in the first chapter. Originally I was going to leave this as a one-chapter fic. I've already started the series so I'm not going back, but I'm _really_ unsure of it. I have everything all planned out, and there will be six chapters in total. I'll be editing these next two chapters _a lot_. I'm probably going to end up writing the series in full, and then going back and editing everything to get it to flow just right. I promise you the chapters will all flow together better when you read the finished product. But hey, I don't have the finished product yet. So basically, all this rambling is saying I apologize, it's a work in progress, it's all very abrupt and a lot is still unexplained, but it _will_ **all work out in the end. Your patience with this story is SO important to me. Any feedback is still much appreciated, you have no idea how much reviews brighten my day. Thank you all so much for reading!**

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You'll Have It Made

by Ex Astra

Daytime in the loft. Mark was sitting on the floor with his camera, editing some old unfinished films. Roger was sitting on the table, one foot on the floor and one foot on a chair, idly playing his guitar.

The phone rang.

It continued to ring as they looked at each other, rolled their eyes, and said, "Screen."

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SPEAK! Beeeep… "Hello? Mark Cohen? Eric Alcindoro…"

Mark almost dropped his camera. He ran over to the answering machine, staring down at it in awe.

Roger didn't know who the hell this guy was. "Who the hell is this guy?" 

Roger always spoke his mind.

Mark looked at him expectedly, waiting for him to recall exactly who "this guy" was. Once he realized Roger wasn't going to say anything, he answered, "This is only the most important phone call of my life! I sent my film preview to this guy, remember? He said he was going to look into it and see if any production companies would bite." He paused for a moment, then realized, "Shit Roger! Do you know what that means? They bit! He wouldn't be calling me if they didn't! Oh shit! I can't believe I'm getting this call!"

Roger was more than a little confused. Wouldn't Mark want to talk to him? "Then why don't you pick it up?" 

"No! No, no, I want this on tape! I want to listen to it again and again and…" 

Roger was amused by the fact that Mark seemingly wanted to hear this message so badly, and yet he was talking so much. "You gonna shut up and listen to it the first time?!"

If Roger has something to say, Roger's gonna say it.

Mark muttered one last excited "Shit!" before quieting again to listen to the rest of the message. 

__

"… and he said they'll consider looking at it! They'll need a script ASAP, though, a preview's not gonna do it for them. But what does that matter? They're looking at it! Of course, there are lots more steps after this, but you're well on your way to a prosperous career, baby! And of course you won't forget the little people who got you there when you're high on top of the money, right? Heh heh, well, when you get this call me, my number's… Actually, don't call me. Just send the script!" Beeeep.

Mark immediately began on a minor anxiety attack. "Script? SCRIPT? I don't have a script! I shot without one!"

"Mark, you have the film."

"But he said they wanted a…"

"I know, but can't you just write one down while you watch it? Transcribe it or something."

Mark's anxious thoughts froze for a minute before he looked at Roger with bright eyes and a spreading smile. "Roger?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a GENIUS!"

Not expecting this, Roger laughed. "Now that's a new one."

And without warning, Mark was all over the room. He jumped on the chairs, he jumped on the beds, he jumped on the table, and just when he was about to jump on Roger's guitar, Mimi entered. 

Mimi noted that Roger was sitting in his usual spot with his guitar lying on the table, and Mark was standing up on the table doing… God knows what…

"Uh, guys? What's going o…"

"MIMI!!!"

Mark jumped off the table (causing Roger to let out a sigh of relief because this saved his guitar,) and ran over to Mimi, picking her up and twirling her around.

"Mimi! How ARE you?"

A little surprised, Mimi responded, "I'm uh… fine, Mark… how are _you_?"

"I'm fabulous! Are you fabulous?" Mark cut her off before she could even answer, "'Cause that would make two of us!" He put her down and ran over to get his camera on the way to his room, causing papers to fly around from the wind wherever he passed.

"Roger, honey?"

Roger was still laughing at his friend, "Yeah?" 

"What did you do to Mark?"

Roger chuckled, "Oh I didn't do anything to him. Can't say the same for the answering machine."

"What?" 

"He got a call about is film. A production company's gonna look at it."

"Really? That's great!" 

Their conversation was cut short by Mark running back out of his room with his arms full of blank papers. Holding his camera between his arm and his waist, he held up two messy handfuls of papers. He looked at the couple with huge eyes and a bright smile, and let out an exhilarated "Ahh!"

He was about to run again before he stopped short. "Wait. Where am I going to do this? I ne… I need quiet, and I… I need space…"

"Mark, sweetie," Mimi tried to speak in a calming voice, though it hardly masked her amusement. "Do you wanna go down to my place? Roger and I will stay here… Out of your way."

Mark looked as though a light bulb had just gone off over his head. "YES! I **love** you!" Mark ran over to her and kissed her cheek. 

"Hey!" Roger said playfully, with a little tinge of jealousy seeing as he'd just watched his best friend kiss his girlfriend.

Mark was quick to assure him, "Don't worry… I love you, too!" He gave them a devilish grin before running over to the door.

Roger stopped Mark just before he left, "Hey Mark!"

Mark turned around abruptly. 

"What? *_Breath* _Wh… _*Breath* _What?"

"I'm really happy for you, man."

Mark smiled widely, no longer out of breath, "Thanks!"

And he was gone.


	3. Before I

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Disclaimer: You know the drill. Unless you don't. And in that case, the opening line is from RENT's "Finale B" by Jonathan Larson. And now you know the drill. Learn it. Know it. Love it. 

Thank you all so much for still reading! :) I'm still working on it, but school's making it hard. I'd tell you all about how you don't need to tell me about the flow problems because I already know about them and how it'll make sense when I update and fix some things - but if you're reading this that means you didn't listen to me at the beginning of Chapter 2 so… :Þ I'd still love to know what you all think of it. Reviews are my favorite thing in the world. :)

**__**

Before I…

by Ex Astra

No other path, no other way, no day but today… NO DAY BUT TODAY!

Mark put down his pen and sighed contentedly. He picked up the script and took a look at it. Amazing. Granted, the writing was a little sloppy, especially toward the end… But he was proud of it! He marveled for a moment at how he could turn a pack of blank, worthless papers into something so passionate, so poignant, so... 

Perfect. 

His script. 

The thing that would finally bring him everything he wanted, finally make people give him the credit he deserved!

The thing that would finally make his life matter. 

Mark looked at his watch. 

__

Whoa! How long have I been here? That many hours? Man, I gotta get back home. 

He scooped up all of his papers and picked up his camera, taking in the complete feeling of pride knowing that he finally had a real chance for success. 

He managed to make it out the door all right, even with his arms full. He even made it up the stairs. He wasn't so lucky when he got to the door to the loft. 

He groaned. 

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Keys. 

It took him a good five minutes before he could figure out how to get the keys out of his pocket, unlock the door, turn the doorknob, and still manage to balance his script and camera. 

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Geez, I'm already a filmmaker and screenwriter, why not throw in a balancing act? That way, if the film doesn't work out, I can always be a one-man freak show.

He laughed bitterly as he went inside. Mimi was sitting at the end of the table with her back to the door. Mark put his stuff down on the closer end. "Hey Mimi."

Mimi didn't say anything.

Mark paused.

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Uh oh. They must have had another fight. 

He walked across the room until he finally saw her face. She looked up at him, with eyes red and swollen from crying. Her eyes lacked that special gleam they always held; the shine they would always get whenever she looked at Roger. 

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This isn't like her. She almost looks… Haunted…God, what happened?

"Mimi, what's wrong? Where's Roger?"

Mimi's eyes widened at the mention of Roger's name. 

__

Oh no. No, it… It couldn't be…

"Did… Did something happen to Roger?"

Mimi still said nothing. 

"Oh my God." Mark ran into Roger's room and saw him lying on his bed. He looked at him questioningly. "Roger?"

No answer. 

He spoke to him again, a little quieter, "Roger? You asleep?" Mark approached the bed and sat down next to him. "Roger, wake up." He moved to shake his arm. 

"Roger…" 

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Why is his arm so cold? 

"Roger, this isn't funny."

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He should have put on another blanket. He could have asked for mine. I would've given it to him. 

Mark shook him harder. He tried to speak with more force, but his voice faltered with desperation, "C'mon Rog. Wake up. Roger, wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!" 

Roger never even flinched.

Mark's eyes widened. He clenched his jaw; closed his mouth tightly. He pulled his hand away from Roger's arm slowly, his fingertips brushing it lightly before falling. He looked at Roger's expressionless face for a long time before turning his gaze slowly around the room. His eyes landed on the phone. He got up, feeling a lot heavier than normal, and walked over to it.

He picked up the phone. It was heavy, too. He stared at the number pad, trying to remember how a phone worked. After hearing the dial tone drone on for a couple minutes, he hit Speed 1. 

"Hello?" 

Mark swallowed. "Collins."

"Yeah? Who is this?"

He tried to pronounce each word carefully and clearly. "You need to come." 

"What? Who is… Mark? Come where? Where are you?"

"Home."

"The loft? Mark, why do you need me to come? Is everything okay?"

"Come now."

"Mark, wait, what happ…"

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Click.


	4. The Witness

Disclaimer: See explanation of The Drill in Chapter 3. ****

A/N: Well, my plan's gone all to hell. I'm not writing it all at once because I have absolutely no time to sit down and write the whole thing. I'm going back to regular installments. Then, when it's over, I'll go back and edit and fix all my big bad continuity mistakes, I promise**. So I know it's abrupt, and I know it all makes absolutely no sense, but I've been filling in the holes slowly. However, I think in the next chapter, the holes will all be completely filled and everyone can go home happy. As of now, there will be seven chapters in total. But if I keep thinking of completely new ideas that take up a whole chapter like this one did, then it'll go on forever.**

Beware the _italics_, they'll eat you alive. Sorry, but they are necessary. 

Thank you for your patience and your interest in my story! :-) 

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The Witness

by Ex Astra

Mimi had been sitting on the table for a while before Mark had shown up. She wouldn't move… Couldn't move. It was all just too painful.

__

"Man, is he… Roger?"

Roger gripped the wall tightly, his knuckles turning white as he leaned his forehead against it. His breath was labored and heavy.

"Roger, are you okay? What's…"

Roger cut her off. "It's fine, Mimi. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine! You look… Roger, you look…But you **were** fine a minute ago!"

"I didn't…"

"Yeah?"

"I just…"

"Didn't what?"

"I didn't want him to see me!"

Mimi blinked. "Mark? You didn't want Mark to see you? But honey, why n…"

"He sees me like this and he thinks it's over, Mimi. You know him. He overreacts. And really, I'm just… Tired. Just feeling a little out of it. That's all."

She froze. "Out of it… How?"

"Please don't do that. Don't worry about me. I had to… Because he was gonna worry… Please don't be worried and make me hide things from you, too. I… Need you… To not worry. Okay?"

Mimi turned her head to the bedroom. She could see Mark talking on the phone. His mouth was moving slowly, forming clipped sentences she couldn't make out. No sound penetrated her ears.

She wrung her hands nervously. 

__

She looked him hard in the face. The look in his eye… His body was so weak, but his eyes were alive, waiting for her answer. The look just proved that he was willing to do whatever was necessary… If she was going to worry, he would put up the same façade he did with Mark. He'd pull out every last reserve in him to keep her from pain. But if she put it aside… If she could put it aside and help him, just for now…

She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He let out a sigh of relief and collapsed into her embrace, trying to forget how hard it was to stand on his own. Mimi was there now. Everything was going to be fine. As long as he had her.

Mimi could feel him let go as he succumbed to his weakness. He felt so fragile… As if he'd break with the softest touch, shiver at the slightest draft. She pulled back a little and looked up at him, lightly stroking his face. "Let's just go lie down, okay?"

He just dropped his head farther into her hand, closing his eyes, reveling in her touch.

She spoke quietly, "Roger, you need to rest."

He reopened his eyes, now darkened with an unknown sadness. "Okay."

They started to move towards Roger's room. She needed to support him around the waist while his arm was draped over her shoulders. She couldn't believe how much he was depending on her.

Mark had hung up the phone a long time ago. She couldn't see him through the crack in the door anymore; he had moved somewhere behind it. She still couldn't make out any sounds. She would give anything to hear some sound of life come from that room. Breaking objects. Screaming. Crying. 

But all she heard was silence. 

__

Roger fell onto the bed slowly but heavily. The comfort it provided was overwhelming after standing for so long. Mimi sat down next to him, not knowing what else to do. 

He held out his arms to her. She carefully lay down beside him, resting her head on his chest and draping her arm across his stomach. She started to talk softly as he stroked her hair.

"Honey, I know that you didn't want Mark to worry, but… Maybe you should have told him something. Just showed him a little of how weak you were. I mean… I can't help you alone. I'm not with you all the time. Besides, he knows more than I do. Even if I was always around, I couldn't help you like he could. He's practical, y'know? I couldn't come up with all the little things he could to help you. Plus, he was with you when… Well, he can take care of you."

She felt a little chill go through him. His slow motion through her hair stopped. She must have scared him.

"But it doesn't even matter anyway. You're going to be fine. Today's no different from any other day. You're just a little tired. Nothing more. Hey, maybe we can go somewhere tomorrow! I'll take off from work, and we'll get the whole group together and go start some trouble somewhere. Like old times." Her attempt at casual conversation was failing. She sighed and gave in a little to the worry she'd been suppressing. 

"Roger, I can't even think about tomorrow. I'm trying so hard to, and I want to… For you… But I just can't. I'm too busy thinking about today. And today you're weak. You're weak and you're hiding it from Mark and that just makes this seem so much more… Serious… It's just… I don't know what I'd do without you, Roger. You know I love you, right?" She looked up at his face when there was no answer. "Right?"

His eyes were closed.

Mimi didn't even know she was staring into oblivion until she was stirred from her trance by a sound. She whipped her head around quickly. Her eyes darted all around the room, searching for whatever had emitted the noise. This was the first thing she'd heard since Mark came home, and she wasn't going to lose it. 

*Turn, click. Turn, click…* She played it over and over in her mind. She had heard that sound before. It was so familiar, such a common everyday noise… Why was it so hard for her to remember? It sounded like… Like… God, what was it?

She finally recognized it after a few moments of hard thinking. The doorknob. It was the doorknob turning and opening and… 

She turned towards the door.

"Collins."


	5. Not Denying Emotion

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Disclaimer: You've got to be kidding me. You need to go to a Special Ed Drill-Learning Facility _stat_ if you don't know the drill by now.

A/N: Don't get too excited, I have a feeling it's going to be a pretty long time before the next chapter is up. I pretty much had this chapter all worked out, the outline had practically all the dialogue, and I _really_ wanted to get this up. I think it's going to answer a lot of questions. Not much action, but it explains a lot. Action will return in Chapter 7 (you'll see why it's not in Chapter 6. If I ever get there.) 

Thanks for reading! Reviews are my bestest friends. 

**__**

Not Denying Emotion

by Ex Astra

Collins listened quietly as Mimi recounted her story. She was distraught and sobbing, speaking in broken sentences. Collins understood, though. He understood all too well. 

Mark had been silent ever since they had to rip him out of Roger's… He remained unmoving, with an angry face and dark eyes. 

Mimi's tears started to level off when she finally started to ask the question that had been burning in her mind. "I thought… I thought AIDS couldn't be…"

"Sudden?"

Mimi nodded slowly.

Collins took a deep breath before explaining. "Well, it might not have been AIDS. Or not only AIDS. AIDS left him… more susceptible to… other things. There, um… There were recent studies talking about something like this. Rare cases where HIV/AIDS and aneurysms came hand in hand. No one knows if one caused the other, or…

"It would make sense… An aneurysm is… sudden…"

The tears had started up again, and they fell freely from Mimi's eyes. "How do you…"

"You work at MIT and NYU as long as I have, you begin to pick up a few things. Whether you want to or not." He looked at Mark during the last line, though it seemed like he was trying to get a completely different message to Mark. 

Collins brought his attention back to Mimi. "He probably felt… Very little pain."

Mimi's eyes widened.

__

She felt a little chill go through him. His slow motion through her hair stopped.

Collins didn't notice the sudden fear in Mimi's eyes. He was focusing on Mark again. "Mark?" 

Mark didn't even look at him.

Mimi expected this. He hadn't said anything since he hung up the phone. That deafening silence… Mimi crushed it before it could return and haunt her some more. She responded for him, "He was downstairs. He came up long after I had…"

Collins nodded. He looked back at Mark patiently. "Mark?"

Mark finally spoke up, in an eerily calm voice:

"His arm was cold."

Neither Collins or Mimi knew what to say to that. Collins was trying to find words, but Mark interrupted him as he spoke again, "We need to get an undertaker." 

Collins knew how to respond this time. "Mark, don't worry about that right now."

"No! No he needs… He needs an undertaker… And, and services."

"Mark, I'll take care of all that."

"No, you can't… You need… We need money. They want money for, for… I don't have money…" 

"It's nothing a little A-N-G-E-L can't handle."

Mark misunderstood Collins' meaning. "But Angel can't pay, either! Angel's…"

"Mark, stop. Just stop." Collins replied somewhat forcefully. This was hurting him enough… "Listen. It'll get taken care of. Let me deal with it. If I need to, I can get Joanne to help."

"Oh God, Joanne! Maureen! Someone has to…" 

"**Stop it!**" Mimi, who had been quiet this whole time, finally spoke up. "Stop and listen to Collins. He's trying to help you! Just, just stop worrying about everyone else and worry about yourself for once!"

__

He didn't want you to worry. 

Mark glared at her, his eyes fierce. "Fine."

"Look Mark, I'm…"

"Forget it, Mimi. Just forget it." 

__

Just worry about yourself.


	6. Lifetime Guarantees

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Disclaimer: Don't even.

A/N: This definitely took forever to write. Writer's block was crazy enough with the original. And now I have the revised version. I had to put sections of Chapter 7 in here because they didn't fit where they were (and now that I think of it, fit _much_ better in this chapter.) And while those sections were already written, I had to change what was already here and add to it so that it could all link and flow together. And that took a good 525,600 years. And now, a few thousand revisions and a swapped title later, I _still_ don't even know if I've got it. But well, who knows and here goes and all that jazz. Angst and profundity await you._ (_Isn't that the _best_ word? Profundity. Say it with me now: _Profundity_…)

*_Holds up sign_* Will work for reviews! *_Turns it over_* Will die for reviews! *_Takes out a completely different sign_* Will at least be ecstatically happy to get reviews! 

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Lifetime Guarantees

by Ex Astra

"Dearly beloved, we gather here… To say our goodbyes."

Mark had to stifle a bitter laugh. It couldn't have been more than two months ago that he had said those very words, caught up in the whirlwind of energy induced by instigating a riot. 

He couldn't even remember what that felt like. He was numb to any and all happiness he had ever felt. He couldn't feel.

Mark continued to vacantly watch the man giving the sermon on Roger's life. Funny how a man who had never met Roger could think he knew anything about him, let alone everything.

The man must have given sermons like these for numerous people. Mark wondered if he had actually known any of them. Probably not. He wouldn't have stood up and spoken if he had known any of them; he would have been in his position, grieving along with the rest of the assemblage. 

He wouldn't dare summarize the lives of anyone _he_ held dear.

Mark's eyes fell to the coffin. 

__

Why is his face so blank? Roger doesn't know how to deny emotion. He's too expressive. Everything affects him so deeply. What's making him look so empty? Shouldn't he look peaceful? Mimi's crying, Roger. At least try to look peaceful. 

Mark hadn't yet realized the truth, the finality of the whole situation. 

He looked from face to face. His eyes went, as they always did, to Maureen first. Her face was streaked with tears, and she would take in quick little breaths every moment or so. Her head was resting on Joanne's shoulder. Joanne was stroking her hair, looking sadly and steadily at the speaker, trying to suppress her own tears. Collins was seated in front of them. His head was bowed. He cried softly but freely, pausing to look up towards the sky a few times with his eyes closed. 

__

Stop looking up. He's not gonna hear you that way. He's right in front of you; don't you see him? He's there. You can still talk to him.

Mark finally looked over at Mimi. She looked so… Small. She was drawn into herself, her arms hugging her frail body. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes cast downward. They were all red and puffy. 

Her body was so tired of breathing such hard, labored breaths. Her eyes were so tired of crying. 

__

Mimi, stop crying. He doesn't want us to cry! He's still there; he can still see you. Roger loves your eyes, Mimi. He doesn't want to see them like that. 

Mark couldn't understand any of it. Everything about this place was wrong. It made people do everything they shouldn't. Maureen was crying, Joanne was just sitting there, Collins was fucking **praying**, Mimi was trying to pretend that none of this was happening and not one of them was paying any attention to Roger! 

Not one. 

He turned his attention back to Roger's impassive face. 

__

Don't worry, Roger. I know you're there. I know you wouldn't leave us. And I won't leave you.

Without thinking, he pulled himself up from his chair and slowly made his way over to Roger. His feet left impressions in the wet grass as he approached the coffin. He looked down at Roger's face, now clear in his view. 

His whole body froze. And the realization finally hit him.

Roger wasn't in there. 

Roger was gone. 

Mark and his friends, at some point in time, had all said that they stared death in the face. Living in a world of homelessness, poverty, suffering and disease, they didn't understand that something else existed that was far worse than anything they had ever seen, something more painful than anything they had ever felt. But Mark finally understood. 

It was death. 

People died every day. Everyone was scared of dying, or the death of their loved ones. But not many people knew what death really meant. They didn't really know what they were so afraid of, what they spent hours crying over. 

But Mark did.

Life was all just a huge rush to make a mark on the world. To connect with people and instill one's memory within them. People knew deep down that they couldn't live forever. But if someone _remembered_ them, if they lived with enough meaning… Then at least their memory could go on. And because of that memory, they would matter. And if they mattered, then they never really died.

The fear lied in the possibility that not everyone would make it. Not everyone would make that mark on the world. Whether they died too young too soon or just never fulfilled their potential, the result was inevitable. To truly die. To die without memory or meaning. 

To die like Roger did.

The funeral? It wasn't a remembrance. It was just a summary. A summary of Roger's life, from beginning to end, from birth to death. Major events and people mentioned, minor details and hardships left out. Like that was all he was. 

And to the world, that was all he was. Roger Davis, a transient figure in the history of the universe. His death would pass, as would this day, as would many days to follow it. And all the people who never cared would never get a chance to do so. 

But didn't Roger live with meaning? He played the guitar. He wrote music. He came home late and woke Mark up with his heavy footsteps. He screamed from the pains of withdrawal in a sweaty, shaking mess. He slept in late, he ran his hand through his hair, he ate food. He loved Mimi. He loved Mark.

Sure, Roger lived. But Roger never _mattered._

Mark knew that Roger meant something. To _him_. And he might have even meant something to the others. But Mark and his group of friends were different. Roger's memory couldn't live through them like the memories of the normal deceased. Because none of them would have children. Maureen and Joanne were lesbians. Mimi and Collins both had AIDS. And Mark certainly never planned on marrying or having children. There would be no second generation or any generation after that. Roger's memory would die with these people. And ultimately, Roger would never matter. He would be gone.

Forever.

And that was it.

For once, Mark was really staring death in the face.

And it looked exactly like Roger.


	7. The Right To Remain Silent

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Disclaimer: _Shakes head disappointedly._

A/N: The funeral continues. This is all the same as the Chapter 7 that was posted before, just took out some sections. Please reread Chapter 6 to find out where those sections went and why, and because there are a few new paragraphs there. This chapter also had to give Chapter 6 its title, so it has a new one. But otherwise, this is nothing new.

Please, please, _please_ review. I'd really love to know what you all think of this one. (And y'know. All the other chapters. ;Þ)

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The Right To Remain Silent

by Ex Astra

Mimi looked up at the sky. It was nothing but clouds. She was grateful for the clouds. They at least felt like they were supposed to be there. Though they didn't do anything to soften the sting in her eyes.

She looked down at the ground. The grass was wet with rain from earlier that morning. Her eyes were just beginning to appreciate the consistency of color when a pair of shoes entered their view. 

She lifted her head to see Mark approaching the coffin. It was the first time that day she had really taken notice of the people around her. And from the looks on everyone else's faces, it was the first time they had, too. But at the moment, all their attention was directed at Mark.

Mimi couldn't understand him. The service was nearly over, but no one had made any motions to leave. No one had moved at all. People aren't supposed to just get up in the middle of a funeral and walk up to the body without speaking or justifying their actions in any way. It wasn't right. What made Mark think he could?

No. Mimi did not understand Mark. And she certainly did not understand any of what he was going through, what he was coming to realize. All she knew was that the last thing she wanted to do was approach that coffin. She was too afraid of what she'd see inside.

Who she wouldn't see.

The others were just as surprised as she was. Maureen lifted her head from Joanne's shoulder, looking back and forth between her girlfriend and Mark. Joanne seemed curious as well, but not as eager to do something about it as Maureen. Collins was resolute in his obvious decision to let Mark do what he needed to do.

Mimi couldn't stand to just sit by and watch Mark do this without an explanation. She needed to find out what was going on with Mark. He was seemingly so composed, but his actions left that composure to be questioned. And Mimi needed some answers.

She was never one to simply react. She had to act.

Against her own desire to avoid the coffin at all costs, Mimi found herself nearing it. She was within arm's reach of Mark now, and he still hadn't taken any notice of her. She let a moment pass before reaching out and touching his arm.

Mark remained still, only moving his head a little to show that he acknowledged her. Both were frozen, waiting for the other to explain their actions.

"Mark…"

Mark halted her before she could get anything out of him. "Don't." 

He glanced at the body one last time, and then departed from the desolate scene of misunderstanding, hopelessness and death.


	8. End This War

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Disclaimer: _Raises eyebrow_. _Moves on_.

A/N: Don't worry, you're not hallucinating. You _have_ seen some of this before. They used to be at the end of Chapter 7, but I had to put it into a different chapter because I changed POVs. Originally I had the first half of Chapter 7 as Mimi POV and the second half as Maureen POV, and then the first half of Chapter 8 as a continuing Maureen POV and the second half as Mark POV. And well, that's ridiculous. So now all of them have their own chapters. 

Please, please review! Oh please, oh please, oh please… Whoa. Now "please" sounds _really_ weird.

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End This War

by Ex Astra

Maureen watched the whole exchange between Mark and Mimi. Or the lack of an exchange. She watched as a defeated Mimi shoved her hands into the pockets of her oversized jacket. Her body shrank visibly as she withdrew back into herself.

It was Maureen's turn to act. She needed to do something, and she at least had more hope of getting through to Mimi than with Mark. 

She watched Mark's heavily clothed figure fade as he walked off. Someone would have to try to get through to Mark eventually. Mimi should be the one to do it, but something told Maureen that they were going to need a little help.

In the meantime, she would just try to help Mimi. 

She gave Joanne a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand before getting up and making her way over to Mimi. The girl was hanging her head dejectedly from her failure with Mark. The more Maureen thought about it, the more Mimi really did seem like a girl. She was so young.

Maureen eyed her warily.

"You okay?"

Mimi brought her worn eyes up to Maureen. She nodded. Looking after Mark's retreating figure, she spoke aloud. 

"I'm worried about him."

"But what about you?"

Mimi turned back to Maureen. She looked her straight in the eye, revealing what she seriously believed to be true.

"At least I admit that it's killing me."

With that, Mimi turned and began walking away in the opposite direction of Mark. The two broken souls continued to distance themselves from each other, leaving Maureen, Joanne and Collins to decide the next course of action.

Maureen felt Joanne's hand on her shoulder.

"You ready?"

Maureen looked back in the direction of the still visible Mimi, then in the direction that Mark had gone.

"Actually, Pookie, there's something I need to do first."

Joanne followed her line of view. She understood. 

"You sure?"

She took in a deep breath before answering, "Yeah."

"Alone?"

Maureen paused. Did she really want to get involved in this? And if she did, what difference would she make? Could she really do anything? She decided that she'd have to try.

She nodded. Joanne embraced her and kissed her forehead. Joanne always tried to be encouraging, even in the light of a devastating situation. She gave Maureen one final look of support before turning to get the car and head home. Maureen began to slowly walk off in the direction of the loft. 

And Collins, who had seen and heard everything, could only sit alone and look up to an endless, dreary sky.


	9. Ignite

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Disclaimer: _Smiles_.

A/N: Playwrights are some damn amazing people. Larson, Wilder, Shakespeare… They all kind of just get it, don't they? These are people who really understood life and what it stands for. Thank God they went and wrote it down. If not for them, none of us would be spending so much time writing fanfiction. Which, granted, would probably have gotten us all a few more hours of sleep, but it would have deprived us from sharing our perceptions of characters and life through fiction.

This is the end of this story. I await the inspiration for the next.

**__**

Ignite

by Ex Astra

Mark walked home from the funeral grounds. It was freezing. His breath was visible before him; he watched it escape from his mouth and float away with the wind. Steam billowed out from the sewers, colliding with the frigid winter air and dissipating into the atmosphere. 

Everything seemed stark and desolate. The world was colored in gray.

He passed a building with smoke emerging from its entrance. Mark recognized the club. The outside was of a rundown brick structure. Very small. However, a stairway in the back led to a vast underground room. Its concrete floors and walls resembled those of a warehouse. Needless to say, there was little ventilation. The smoke from the drugs never really made it outside, save for through the small front entrance.

Mark stopped abruptly on the sidewalk as something caught his eye.

Tacked up onto a bulletin board near the club's entrance was an old flyer. On it, in cheap black ink, was printed a picture of a very familiar face. 

A poster. An advertisement for the Well Hungarians playing at that very club only a few weeks prior. Roger's calm face smiled brightly through the picture. His eyes reflected the light that had flashed from Mark's camera when he took the photo.

Mark pursed his lips together. A low growl began to course through him as he stared at the poster. Enraged, he ripped it down off the board. 

As he crumpled it in his hand, he continued upon his earlier path. He started into a sprint.

_______________

Mark threw open the door to the loft. He slammed the poster he tore down onto the table.

He glanced towards Roger's bedroom. Thoughts clouded with rage, he stormed in.

Everything remained untouched. The sheets were still crumpled. Clothes were scattered haphazardly across the "furniture." Pages of lyrics were strewn across the floor and stacked up in piles against the wall. The guitar lay in its case, waiting for someone to play it and break the silence. It was all exactly as he had left it.

He dared only to touch one page of music. He picked it up gingerly and looked over the notes. It had been Roger's latest endeavor.

Mark let out a short, strained laugh. He had stopped mid-measure. That was Roger. Always leaving things right in the middle. He'd come back and finish it eventually. And he'd pick up right where he left off, never missing a beat.

One last, unfinished piece. One more thing Roger left behind. 

Mark looked back towards the interior of the loft. His eyes traveled from the poster he left on the table to the others pinned up on the wall. They were all covered with pictures of Roger and the band, advertising gigs at CBGB's and the Pyramid Club.

As Mark returned his gaze to the incomplete song he held in his hand and the various other sheet music, something snapped inside him. Clicked. Everything was suddenly very clear.

He scooped up all the papers. He gathered as many pages his arms could carry. Not one piece of music escaped his grasp. He went out to the table and picked up the poster he'd left there. He rushed over to the wall and tore down every flyer, every advertisement. What good were they now? 

What good was any of it now?

__

Mimi was there. She at least tried. 

He grabbed the garbage can from the corner of the room. Their illegal wood burning stove. He prepared to drop everything in. The posters, the flyers, the advertisements…

And at last, Roger's lyrics.

He lit a match.

__

I didn't try. I wasn't even there. 

Without a word, he threw it in. For the first time since he arrived home, Mark stopped. Breathless from his burst of energy, he simply watched it all burn. He looked on as "Your Eyes" went up in smoke.

He couldn't even feel the heat.

__

Where was I? I was working on that stupid script… 

Mark took a sharp breath inward with realization. His eyes narrowed.

__

My script. 

He strode over to the end of the table and picked up his screenplay. He clutched it to him, looking at the steady flames leaping from the garbage can. The pages began to crinkle under the pressure of his grip. 

Mark slowly made his way back to the edge of the fire. His golden release. The flames reflected across his glasses and bitter, gray eyes.

The screenplay. The lyrics. The memories.

It all had to burn.

Detached and broken, Mark murmured to himself through clenched teeth:

"Zoom in… As I burn the past to the ground."


End file.
